


Chalk and Cheese

by perclexed



Series: Happy Highways Where I Went [4]
Category: Lewis (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 04:45:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4166397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perclexed/pseuds/perclexed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was all giving Robbie a flamin’ headache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chalk and Cheese

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, as always, to Tehomet, Medie and Tinzelda. Cheerleaders, betas, and excellent people all around, those three.

Maybe having Darcy come down to Oxford for a visit on the same day James ditched the sling and started physio in earnest hadn’t been his best idea. The emails and phone calls have been lovely, but Robbie knew he’d feel better if he had a chance to see her with his own eyes. He still can’t recall most of the day when unknown assailants had attacked Darcy, accidentally taking him out with a drugged dart meant for her. He has sense impressions, of a strong, lean body covering his, and his hand being held in the back of an ambulance while a low voice growled at what must have been the emergency personnel. But by the time he’d been properly awake, James had retreated behind his usual slightly stoic demeanor, and Robbie hadn’t quite known how to ask him whether or not Robbie’s memories had any basis in fact.

He would have asked Darcy, but while they’d made excellent progress towards building a friendship in those few short days she’d been in town, Robbie wasn’t sure it was enough to allow him to have the front to ask, “Remember that day you nearly got shot in the head? Can you go over what happened with me?”

Robbie’s had more practice with missing time, thanks to a few concussions during his days with Morse, than Darcy’s had with nearly getting shot by her fellow human beings, so he’d decided to let sleeping dogs lie with the hope of bringing up the topic when she’d been able to work through the experience a bit.

Perhaps that had been a mistake. Bringing James and Darcy together for a meal may have been another.

The two had been snippy with each other all evening, with Darcy getting more pointedly sarcastic as the night progressed. James’ manners had started out ‘coolly correct’ and were rapidly approaching ‘icily formal’, which only seemed to make Darcy even more impertinent, which meant James finally retreated behind pointed silence or, if he had to speak, overly erudite responses.

It was all giving Robbie a flamin’ headache, and he kind of wants to thump both of them by the time James has enough and pushes his chair back from the table.

“Sir, if you don’t mind, I think I will head home now.”

“Running away?” Darcy picked up her wineglass and drains it in one gulp.

“As you like.” James nods to Darcy stiffly, and stalks to where he’d parked his coat. Robbie’s watching him closely, and though James swiftly conceals his wince of pain as he reaches for his jacket, it’s not quickly enough for Robbie to miss it.

“Are you sure you’re all right to drive home?” Robbie knows it’s absolutely the wrong thing to say as soon as it comes out of his mouth. He can hear Darcy’s snort of contempt, which means James can hear it, and now the poor bloke’s gone even more rigid and controlled. The way he’s holding himself is making Robbie’s head throb in sympathy, and he knows it can’t be good for James’ arm.

“I’m sure I can manage to get myself home in one piece. Sir.” Oh, aye, he’ll be in for a chilly few days at work, regardless of whether he’d meant to call James’ competence into question in front of the young lady at the table.

What a buggering mess this night’s turned into. Robbie sighs, slumping a bit, and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Well. Good night then.”

James does thaw enough to offer him the smallest quirk of his lips, which means Robbie’s at least got a chance of escaping a full-on freeze out at work next week. As he swings the door closed behind James, Robbie makes a mental note to swing by James’ favorite coffee shop to pick up one of the lad’s ridiculous coffees and a couple of his favorite pastries first thing Monday morning. James knows Robbie hates shelling out for anything but bog standard black coffee, even as he secretly savours the taste and richness of a good latte. A peace offering will help ease the unintentional blows James has taken to his pride tonight.

Now to sort out the irritated young woman in his flat. “I feel like some hot chocolate. How about you?” 

Darcy obviously bites down on her initial response, as she sinks her teeth into her lower lip and heaves a sigh through her nose. “Sure, that sounds great. I’m going to go change into something more comfortable while you do that?”

Robbie nods and sets to clearing the table. The dishes can wait until the morning. He’s got bigger issues to sort out. 

It’s soothing, gently heating the milk and cream mixture, and slipping in broken bits of a nice chocolate bar, the way Val used to. As he stirs, he remembers the first time she ever made this drink for him. Instead of the pang of grief he expected, he simply feels warm and content, as though she’d come up behind him and hugged him around the middle. For once he doesn’t question his reaction, instead just allowing himself to remember the feeling.

Robbie smiles as he remembers the first time he’d taken the trouble to make this for James too. The lad had been intensely curious, frowning at the way Robbie was adding ingredients to the pot without measuring, and had broken away to scoop up his phone to research why adding a bit of instant espresso powder was necessary. It had been weirdly predictable, and completely James. Robbie has long suspected that it had been the very first time anyone had taken the trouble to make the drink by hand for the man, and he recalls feeling a clenching in the pit of his stomach at the thought. 

As Robbie rummages in the cupboard for the vanilla, he spies a bottle in the back corner of the shelf and grabs it too. Adding a touch of single malt couldn’t hurt, right? Brandy might be better, but he’s not had it in the house since he left for secondment. A touch of both the vanilla and whisky, a bit of sugar, and he’s ready to pour it into a pair of waiting mugs. He thought he’d had… ah yes, there they are. Lyn had gotten a bag of mini-marshmallows at the shops the last time they were down with his grandson, and Robbie adds a few to the top of each mug.

Moving the pan to a back burner on the hob, he picks up the mugs and makes his way to the living room. Darcy looks up as he enters. Her face is drawn, her eyes deeply troubled, and her mouth is drawn tight in an unhappy line.

“Robbie, why doesn’t he like me?” She’s curled into a corner of the couch, tatty jumper sleeves pulled over her hands, but she readily accepts one of the mugs and hums happily as she samples the rich drink.

His heart falls at seeing her so troubled. He crosses the living room and sits next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. “Ah, lass. Don’t take it to heart. He’s an awkward and prickly sod at the best of times.”

“I know I’m... well, me. But I’m a good person! I make sure Eric’s got his meds and Jane showers at least every other day. I rescue puppies from getting squished by magic machines from outer space. I’ve faced down gods and monsters and kind of help save the world sometimes. I don’t understand why he’s so cold to me.”

Robbie sighs. “With Hathaway, it’s all in the very, very little things. He has his reasons for being so locked down, but when you spend time with him, you start to learn his tells.”

The way James says “Sir” is always a good indicator of his state of mind. There’s the complete lack of any inflection whatsoever when he’s taking the piss out of Robbie. The way he can somehow infuse the simple word with a wealth of respect when he’s feeling particularly impressed by something Robbie’s managed to suss out or intuit on a difficult case. The ever so slight whine when he’s protesting something Robbie’s asked him to do, or the hint of a sigh as he exhales the word when he’s resigned to a course of action. The pleased rumble when they’re on the same page, or the hint of laughter when he’s particularly amused.

There’s a lot James can say with just three little letters.

Then there’s the more obvious tells. Nibbling on the right side of his lower lip when he’s feeling particularly uncertain about something. His eyebrows are always a good indicator of his mood. James can convey a truly substantial amount of scorn with the lift of a single brow. Robbie’s had to stifle the impulse to reach out and smooth out the furrow between them when the lad’s working his way through something worrying or fretful. And those long fingers squeezing tight into fists or clenching around the steering wheel in the car in frustration, or drumming against his keyboard, the table, or his desk as he thinks. Or the very, very rare times when he’s so upset he’ll nibble on the side of his thumb. Yes, the way James uses his hands is another good indicator of his mood.

At this point, Robbie’s probably the world’s leading expert in translating Hathaway. Maybe he should put some thought into writing a codex, just in case.

“He’s not used to someone so….”

“Blunt? Obvious? Common?” This last she spits like it’s left a bad taste in her mouth. 

Robbie wants to punch whoever hurt her with that word. He rests a finger under her chin and tilts her head up. Stormy blue eyes cloudy with remembered pain meet his. “Forthright. Honest. Courageous.”

She snorts at this last one. 

“I mean it. Even without factoring our ‘stiff British upper lip’ into it, it takes quite a lot of courage to say what you think and stand by it.”

Darcy doesn’t look convinced. 

“I think you unnerve the man. Without going into too much detail, he’s only ever had his brain to help him get ahead. No real connections.” (She mutters something straight from Austen about connections that he pretends not to hear). “No money, went to public school on a scholarship, and then did the same at Cambridge when he got in there. Where he studied Theology. Systems of belief, religion... big concepts, yeah? And then right into a seminary to train to be a Catholic priest. Which didn’t work out for reasons we are not exploring at this juncture.”

“Did you just make a due South reference?” 

“Aye. You’re a bad influence.” They exchange a smile, but his fades and he looks troubled. “And then beings straight out of some of the myths he’s probably studied arrive on Earth, and the universe is suddenly a whole lot bigger than we ever truly believed it to be.” He takes in her beloved face. “And you know them. You are ‘BFFs’ with these figures out of myth and legend who are crazy for those disgusting toaster pastries you insist on buying, and who are delighted at the concept of kitchen appliances and daytime telly in all it’s wretched, overblown, and slightly hysterical glory.”

“Yeah, I see your point.” Darcy sighs, still glum.

“Remember that feral cat analogy we talked about over breakfast the last time you were here?” Robbie’s not sure he should bring this up, but it’s not really fair to place all of the blame for tonight’s tension riddled disaster of a dinner on James. “You must see that the way you were talking to him tonight was like stroking his fur all the wrong way.” Robbie says it gently, even as a part of his mind stumbles over the idea of anyone stroking James’ anything, let alone the wrong way.

Darcy sits up, outraged. “But…!”

“Ah, none of that now. You were picking at him all night.” Robbie levels his best ‘gently remonstrating father’ look at Darcy. It always worked a treat on Lyn. Less so with his son, but they were usually too confrontational for a gentle look to pull the boy back into line.

Darcy sighs, and pouts, but nods, reluctantly owning up to her own role in tonight’s little disaster.

“Sometimes, people are just like chalk and cheese.”

“This is one of those weird British things, isn’t it?” she says.

Robbie smiles. “I think you might say ‘apples and oranges’? You’re just different people with different approaches to life. But, and I’m being completely honest here. I truly do think he likes you.” She looks up at him with the most skeptical expression he’s seen on anyone outside of, well, James. “I’m serious. He appreciates... what did you call it? Snark? Extreme sarcasm, expertly wielded.”

“Hmph.” They’re quiet for a bit as she drinks her hot chocolate and he enjoys holding her close. Right now she reminds him of Lyn, and he wallows for a moment in nostalgia of helping guide his own daughter through a similar conversation years ago. Of course, back then he could offer to arrest anyone who made her cry. It’s a bit more difficult when it’s his own bagman making Darcy’s enormous blue eyes water like that.

“Well, and he did get shot not that long ago by people who were after you. It’s the risk inherent in the job, but that doesn’t make the recovery any easier.” Robbie’s not glad that Hathaway’s been shot before, of course, but after getting winged at Crevecoeur during that cock up of a case, at least James had an idea of what was needed to rehabilitate the arm and be cleared for active duty once again. It’s been tough, watching the lad work through his exercises, face tight with pain but determined to get off of desk duty as soon as possible.

Darcy frowns at the memory of that evening. “It’s just….” She trails off for a moment, then visibly gathers her courage. “He’s really important to you. Most of my own family is gone, and the ones that are left don’t really know anything about me or what I’ve been doing these last few years.” She turns to face him. “Jane and Thor and Eric are my family now. And if it’s OK with you, I want to include you too.”

He’s stunned. He knew they’d been making excellent strides at creating a real friendship, but he’d had no idea the lass considered him family. But she’s not finished.

“And Hathaway’s super important to you, so by extension I want to include him. But maybe not just because of you. He’s a good man. I can see it. I really can. And I know you wouldn’t have stayed his governor for as long as you did if he wasn’t.” She stops, looking pensive, and sighs. “He’s just so hard to get a handle on.”

Hmm, perhaps he should approach this from another angle. “Pet, remember when you listed those important people and those reasons why you’re a much bigger deal than your elderly cousin?”

She pokes him in the ribs. “Please. You’re not that old. Thor’s like over three thousand. You’re barely out of diapers by comparison.”

“Well, I hope I’ll stay out of diapers for a while yet. The adult kind especially.” They exchange a grin. “But that’s not my point. Look at it from James’ perspective. The lad has a few self worth issues already, and you show up out of nowhere and have what he probably thinks is a better claim on my time and attention.”

Darcy scoffs at this. “Hasn’t he been your partner for, like, six or seven years now?”

“I didn’t say it was logical. And he’s more than me partner. He’s… well, to be honest, he’s probably my best mate.”

“And does he know that? The best mate thing?” Darcy’s looking up at him with a very mysterious gleam in her eyes. He’s trying to work out what she means when she speaks again. “People don’t know how you feel unless you tell them.”

He can’t help the hiss of shock at her words. 

“What? What did I say?” Darcy draws back, out from under his arm, and turns to peer at him, concerned.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just… Laura said the same thing, nearly exactly the same thing, a few years ago.” Once he could write off as Laura being Laura. But twice? In nearly the same words? He’s not religious, and he’s certainly not into the kind of ‘signs’ charlatan psychics would espouse to their clients, but even he can feel that this is probably a message of some kind.

“And did you? Tell him how much he means to you?” Darcy’s trying to keep a smirk under control, he can just tell.

Robbie reaches up and tugs at an ear. “Not as such, no.”

“Oh, Robbie.” Darcy sighs, and apparently gives in to her urge to smile as she reaches out to pat his cheek. “Given everything you’ve told me about Hathaway, I think it would be a really good idea for you to actually say it in straightforward, plain English. You can have a bottle of whisky and a couple of tumblers to hand if you need to have a manly, bracing dram afterward, but tell me truthfully. Do you really, truly, honestly think James knows, at his core, _in his heart_ how important he is to you?”

Damn it, she’s got him backed into a corner now. Because there are few things on earth he can count on the way he can count on James’ lack of belief in himself when it comes to personal relationships and his place in people’s lives.

He scowls at her, and her smile only grows. “I’ll give you a month. After that, I’m getting Laura involved, and let me ask you this — do you really want Laura and I in the middle of that conversation with you and James?”

He can’t help the involuntary shudder of horror that makes its way down his spine.

“Yeah, I thought not. You’ve got your orders, soldier. Get marching.”

He rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his cooling chocolate to avoid answering her directly. He’s not proud of dodging the subject, but he’s not really ready to talk about it any more with her. Mercifully, she lets it go.

“So. I think apology baked goods are in order for your James. Suggestions? I can make them before I leave and you can bring them with you to work on Monday.” She hums thoughtfully. “Or I can make them in the morning and we can drop them by his place? Invite him out to dinner someplace really tasty to make up for the disaster that was tonight?”

“Something simple and rich would be good. Shortbread, maybe.” He nods, remembering many a muffled curse as a cascade of shortbread crumbs decorate the man’s tie as he munches his way through an afternoon treat retrieved from the nearest coffee stand to the station. 

“I wonder if I could make something with oatmeal too. Like those Hob Nob things, only home made.” Darcy’s looking thoughtful and pulling her tablet over to start looking through the internet for recipes.

“Well, if he doesn’t want them, you can make those for me.” 

He slings an arm around her shoulders once more and pulls her close once more. Tonight could’ve gone better, but things are looking up.

Anything else can wait until tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated. I hope you enjoyed this! More soon.


End file.
